


You hit me like a "coup de foudre".

by Heyashes



Series: The Brave Ones Verse [5]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Adorable Thomas, Crush at First Sight, Flashbacks, French Class, French literature, M/M, Newt is a sucker for everything Thomas does, Thomas is some sort of lost puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyashes/pseuds/Heyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Newt notices Thomas is when the brunet is gasping for air as he tries to read out loud from his Madame Bovary copy.</p><p>Things have gone a bit further from that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You hit me like a "coup de foudre".

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo! A big, massive thank you goes to [17Nanami17](http://archiveofourown.org/users/17Nanami17/profile) for suggesting this prompt!  
> A billion kisses and hugs go to the ones who've been reading this since the very first chapter and liked it and commented it as well as the ones who arrived a bit later but showed the love nonetheless! This one's for you. I can't even start to describe how much your appreciation means to me.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this, and if you have any suggestion/prompt feel free to drop me an [ask](boollshit.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr or leave a comment down below! Feedbacks are great, too.  
> All the love xxx

_Five minutes._

_**Five minutes**  delay was all it took Newt to find someone else sitting in his usual seat in French Class that morning._   
_He was going to yell._   
_Jesus, there must have been some sort of non-written rule about seats, right? Or something. Something along the lines of "I've been sitting here for two months, I'm more than allowed to consider this **my** seat."_

_Apparently, there wasn't. And a bloody bright pink haired girl raised her perfectly filled brow at him as he gave her a dirty look for sitting in the wrong seat._   
_He sighed heavily and went for another sit, slumping on the only vacant chair in the whole room._   
_In the exact middle of it. How great._

_He pulled out his things with a suffocated groan and watched as the professor -some French woman, about 50 year old, with her hair pulled into a bun on top of her head so tight that it looked like her forehead would rip any second- made her way in and sat down at the large desk. She pulled out her own copy of "Madame Bouvary" and a list of names of all the people attending her class._   
_Newt froze: lectures usually weren't... interactive. No one usually had to speak out loud unless they wanted to. But a list of names could only mean one thing._

_"Good morning everyone," The woman began, a thick French accent lingering in the air as she spoke. "Today I'm going to try something new,"_

_' **I** ," Newt thought. 'Not  **we** , but  **I**.' He groaned internally: it looked like she was going to have a hell of a good time embarrassing them that morning. She had the same look the cat has when it finds the cream._

_"I'm going to pick one random name from the list," She explained, raising the sheet of paper so everyone could see -and fear- it. "And one of you will have to read out loud today's chapter for the rest of the class, which is then going to discuss it in small groups."_

_Newt felt the urge to die: if his name ended up to be the one picked he was going to get up and leave the room flailing his arms like a madman. There was no way he was going to read **out loud** in front of  **forty people** in fucking **French**._

_"Smith?"_   
_No answer. If this Smith bastard had decided to not show up today and give Newt another chance to be picked, he was goin to hunt him or her down and eat his or her soul. And lungs. Raw._   
_"Thomas Smith?"_

_The guy sitting in front of Newt, who had spent the last 10 minutes dozing off with his chin rested on his closed fist, shyly raised his hand, a bright shade of red crawling its way up the back of his pale neck as he did so._   
_Newt sighed in relief, relaxing in his seat. 'Not today, Flaubert,' he thought. 'Not today.'_   
_He opened his book to the right page and waited for this Thomas kid to do the same. He listened as he awkwardly cleared his throat and watched him grip the edge of the book with shaky hands._

_"Parbleu!" A deep breath. "Le... de-devoir, c'est... c'est de," A long pause. "C'est de... sentir ce q-qui est grand," Long, bony fingers running through messy hair, another shaky breath. "de chérir... ce qui est-"_   
_"I'm going to have to ask you to try and read properly, Mr. Smith," The professor interrupts. "I'm sure none of your coleagues has understood a single word of what you just read." And Newt can hear a few other students snicker at the comment. He feels bad for the boy now. Even tho he's never heard someone read so poorly in his entire life -whether was it in English, or French, or any other language, the guy's voice was something that had hit Newt istantly: Deep, slow, raw and scratchy at the edges but soft and thick as honey at the same time._   
_A voice like that couldn't belong to someone bad, the blond was sure of it._   
_Thomas quickly nodded his head at the question. "Yes, I... I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."_   
_And, hell, if it wasn't panic in his voice, Newt didn't know what it was. He suddenly felt the urge to raise his hand and rest it on the boy's shoulder to reassure him._   
_He forced himself to hold back. That would've been weird even for him._   
_The professor gave him an unimpressed nod, then took the list again as to tell Thomas that time's up for him and that this was definitely going to end up on his report._

_Newt found himself raising his hand before he even knew it. "I'd like to read," He volunteered, and fuck him if he didn't feel like some poor version of Katniss Everdeen volunteering as a tribute for the Hunger Games or something. She raised a brow at him while everyone turned around to stare with their mouths agape._

_Everyone except Thomas._

_"Green," He informed her. "Isaac Green." She nodded at him and he took a deep breath, skimming through the words. "Parbleu! le devoir, c'est de sentir ce qui est grand, de chérir ce qui est beau, et non pas d'accepter toutes les conventions de la société, avec les ignominies qu'elle nous impose..."_   
  
_One hour and a half later Newt had gone almost through the entire chapter surprisingly easily: maybe he wasn't as bad as he thought he was, after all._   
_He packed his stuff and quickly made his way to the door, casually resting against the wall in the hallway pretending to text someone until he catched a familiar grey tshirt in the corner of his eyes._   


_And Jesus Christ, Thomas was **beautiful**. The breathtaking kind of beautiful. _   
_It hit Newt so hard it almost knocked him off his feet._   
_He didn't even notice the extremely battered pair of faded black Converse All Star he was wearing, or the couple of holes in his grey shirt or the way his jeans were alarmingly thin on his knees. Or the dark circles around his eyes, or the exhausted expression on his face._   
_He didn't notice much aside from those deep whiskey coloured eyes and the pink bow of those perfect lips. The billion moles dotting his perfect skin._   
_...Or the way his ass fit in those skinny jeans, but tha was way beyond the point._   


_From that day Newt gave up his seat in the corner in favour of the one a couple of rows away from Thomas', from where he could throw not-so-subtle looks at him now and then, but no one had to know._   
_Especially Minho._   
_Yeah. Minho would have destroyed him if he found out._

**_***_ **

 

" _Les Trois Mousquetaires_  est un roman d'Alexandre Dumas, initialement publié en feuilleton dans le journal  _Le Siècle_  de mars à juillet 1844..."

Newt smiled from where he was sitting on the couch as he listened to Thomas absent mindedly read from his text book sitting on the floor near the fireplace: his French had gotten much better from the day Newt picked him up. Well, all his grades had, now that he actually had  _time_ to sleep and therefore a vague chance to concentrate instead of reading everything while getting to class because he'd spent every spare moment at home trying to get some rest.  
Not to mention that Newt loved to help.  
Especially since the reward system with kisses seemed to work so well with his boyfriend.

He got up and went to sit crosslegged in front of Thomas, tea mug held tightly in his hands as he leaned in to take a peek at the book. "What are you reading?" He hummed, a gentle smile on his lips.  
"Hm? Oh," Thomas shook his head a bit and waved his hand towards the book as if it was nothing important. "The Three Musketeers,"   
"Is it any good?" Newt asked, biting back a grin: he'd read that book years before, but he loved to let Thomas think that he was doing something super cool.  
Thomas nodded with a wide smirk. "It's so great, the characters are amazing and it's not that hard to read for being in French... I'm currently working on how and when it was written tho," He explained.  
  
Newt stared at Thomas for a few seconds with a fond smile on his lips. "Do you know what ' _Coup de foudre_ ' means?"  
"Isn't it something along the lines of 'Love at first sight'?"  
Newt nodded, smile growing bigger as he got closer to Thomas' face. "Good guess," He hummed resting his forehead against the brunet's. "Do you think there's a chance that something like 'love at first time I heard your voice' exists?"  
Thomas laughed, brushing the tip of his nose against Newt's. "I don't know, maybe. People fall in love on the phone, so. Why?"  
Newt shrugged, raising a hand to casually play with the short hair at the nape of Thoma's neck. "Because I'm pretty sure I fell in love with you that time I heard you almost have a panic attack over some chapter from Madame Bovary."  


Thomas pulled back a bit, blinking as he stared at Newt, which made the blond's stomach feel quite uneasy: Thomas wasn't going to think he was a creep now, was he? He really hope he hadn't ruined everything, or he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror without spitting at his own reflection.  
"That was two years ago, Newt," Thomas stated matter of factly.  
Newt swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yeah... I, uhm. I know it sounds weird... and maybe even a bit creepy... but it's not like I haven't tried to get you to notice me, I swear!" He said, his voice a bit too high pitched. "Like that one time, with that bloody chapter, I volunteered to read and take the attention off of you and everyone looked at me except you and-"  
Newt almost flailed when Thomas' hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him forward a bit too enthusiastically.

" _Embrasse-moi, idiot_."

And Newt kissed him. Of course he did. Nice and deep, but always keeping it sweet as he ran his fingers through Thomas' hair. It was Thomas' way to thank him for saving his ass during that French lesson, and it was Newt's way to thank Thomas for letting him have him.

 

...And because Thomas sounded so damn hot when he spoke in French.  
But that was another story.


End file.
